


of cats and arguments

by averzierlia



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cats, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averzierlia/pseuds/averzierlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the further adventures of erik vs cat</p>
            </blockquote>





	of cats and arguments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazulisong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulisong/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Naming of Cats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/213538) by [lazulisong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulisong/pseuds/lazulisong). 



Erik sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night to discontented yowls, which inevitably lead him to the kitchen where Charles has somehow managed to get himself trapped in a cupboard or in the space between the cupboard and the fridge or one on occasion, _in_ the fridge. If he didn’t know better he would think (and sometimes thinks anyway) that Charles is after his stash of whiskey, because the place he gets trapped changes in relation to wherever he happens to be storing it.

Charles-the-Human had a thing for whiskey, and Erik tries very hard to not conduct a very horrible experiment to find out if Charles-the-Cat reacts to the drink the same way Charles-the-Human had.

Or his cat is possibly trying to stage an intervention. Erik is never sure.

This time, Charles is stuck _under_ the fridge, and when Erik finally manages to get him out he sits at the kitchen table nursing eight new puncture wounds on his hand and wrist while glaring at the purring cat in his lap.

“This has got to stop,” Erik tells him, and god, he’s talking to a fucking cat.

Charles makes an interested mrow and goes back to...studying the cupboard above the sink, where Erik stashed his latest bottle of whiskey, what the fuck.

“Stop that. You can’t get up there, and I’m perfectly entitled to drink.”

Charles pats his knee in a condescending way, and dammit, it’s going on 2am and Erik has to be up in three hours. He’s too tired to be arguing with his cat.

 _Arguing and losing_ , the traitorous part of his brain that always talks in Charles-the-Human’s voice pipes up, and Erik drags a hand across his face. Fuck.

“We’re going to bed,” Erik says, scooping Charles up and heading to his room, ignoring the claws Charles sinks into his shoulders in retaliation.

 _And this time_ , Erik thinks, _I’m going to lock the fucking door_.


End file.
